Kindergarten Playtimes
by StoryGirl02
Summary: Sometimes Chuck thanks the makers of Barbie. If it weren’t for them, he would have never had the chance to meet a little brunette, impatient, over-emotional girl he can now proudly call his girlfriend. Still, he’s never going to give her back Ken.


**Kindergarten Playtimes. **

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**Blair Cornelia Waldorf was a rare beauty, a delicate flower born and bred amongst the grime and grit of Manhattan. Blessed with loose chestnut curls, that seemed to shine brightly whenever the sun appeared, and a pair of fluttering brown pools for eyes, she was a heart-breaker, even at age six.

Dorota, a maid her mother had hired for a Christmas party, but had stayed because Blair had taken an instant liking to her, fussed over her, the constant attention the only sort of mothering she received. Under Dorota's care, Blair was the terror of her group, stamping her little feet and crying, painfully, whenever she didn't get something she wanted.

They had all learnt a lesson by the time her sixth birthday rolled around. When Blair Waldorf wanted something, she got it.

At one-thirty on a sunny and bright Wednesday morning, she found herself stamping her Mary-Jane encased foot, her mouth quivering with held-back emotion. "Please?" she asked, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Pretty please?"

"Not in your life, Waldorf. I'm not giving it up for anything."

Blair scowled, before gleefully thrusting something under the smirking boy's nose. She waved it around quickly, before looking at the boy. "Look at what'll you get!" she exclaimed, giggling as the boy pondered this, tapping his chin with a finger,

Silence loomed over the pair for a few moments, the other children making up the noise that the two now lacked. Slowly, painfully slow, they boy pulled out something from inside his pant pocket, and waved it at Blair.

"Can I please have him back?" Blair questioned, her small hands clutching at the end of her purple dress. "Please?"

The boy tapped his chin again with a manicured finger. "No," he told her, smirking delightedly, staring into her eyes. "I like him, more than any of the other toys we have here. You know what? I think I actually keep him."

"But he's mine!" Blair argued, biting on her bottom lip, dragging her teeth against the soft, pink flesh until it hurt, her face wincing. Her hands tugged impatiently on the bottom of her curls, eyes watching the boy.

"Everyone knows that," she whispered quietly.

The boy smiled, brushing brown strands of hair away from his eyes. "Well, not anymore," he told her. "I'm a Bass, and they only have the very best."

"But he's my Ken!" Blair yelled, stamping her foot heatedly on the floor. "I need him!"

Chuck shrugged, placing the doll back into his pocket. "Find another one," he suggested, gesturing over the open play-box.

Blair narrowed her eyes, scowling. "He's the only one that looks good with Malibu Barbie, and you know it, Charles Bass!" she spat out his name as if it were a poisonous snake, gazing heatedly up at him. "He's mine," she whispered.

"Do I have to tell you again? I don't care! I don't care if he was yours, he mine now. No matter how hard you try, I'm not going to give him back. You'd better get used to that idea, and fast." Chuck grinned at her, patting his now doll-shaped pocket.

A hot tear ran down her flushed cheek, her hands grasping uselessly at her dress, tugging the material until it was taunt. Blair wiped her eyes, glaring at Chuck through water-clogged vision, the doll she had previously held in a tight grasp now falling to the floor with a loud clatter.

"I hate you, Chuck Bass," Blair snapped, tears falling from her eyes to roll down her cheeks and fall, drop by drop, from their slight quivering as they stopped on her chin before making their slow descent.

"Whatever," he muttered, turning, his feet slow pattering towards his group of friends, a light brown-haired boy hitting his feet against the desk he sat on.

Blair watched him go, drying up the last remains of her tears slowly. She shook her head softly, before turning on her heel, smiling slightly as a little blonde girl waved happily at her from her seat on the red carpet. Serena patted the space next to her, smiling back at Blair.

Chuck never did give her back her Ken.

It now sits on his shelf, a bleached-blonde Barbie beside it

A photo of Blair beams from the left of the two dolls, Chuck's arm wrapped around her waist, visible in the right corner. Her hair is loose and swept away from her face by the wind, and her mouth is twisted up in a happy beam.

Sometimes Chuck thanks the makers of Barbie. If it weren't for them, he would have never had the chance to meet a little brunette, impatient, over-emotional girl he can now proudly call his girlfriend. He would have never had the fortune to have met Blair.

Still, he's never going to give her back Ken. No matter how hard she tries to convince him otherwise.

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** I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading this. Although my hand cramped up whilst writing, it was enjoyable. Review?**


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